


cyclostationary

by catalysis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Break Up, except the angst is pretty light, seasons as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysis/pseuds/catalysis
Summary: So, Atsumu’s wrong. Winters in Osaka are much colder than winters in Hyogo ever were.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 231





	cyclostationary

**Author's Note:**

> hi i live in a place where winter simply Does Not Exist so my descriptions are probably grossly inaccurate
> 
> warnings for mentions of imagined violence (not graphic), swearing (esp. towards the end), implied sex (also at the end)

❅

Atsumu thinks that winters in Osaka are a lot like winters back home. 

The cold nips but never bites. It hits 2℃ right after the holiday break but Atsumu just puts on another coat and his only pair of boots and walks to practice. He gets to the locker room just in time to see Bokuto stroll in unzipping the light team jacket and already wearing his practice shorts. Atsumu blinks because, sure, it’s not quite freezing, but most people would be at least a little phased. Then again, he’s not sure if Bokuto even owns another jacket. 

What’s really offensive though is when Hinata shows up dressed basically the same way, except his shorts are like, _maybe_ an inch longer. Even Inunaki and Tomas, who drive to practice, are dressed sensibly. 

So Atsumu opens his mouth to complain or something— And then promptly shuts it as Sakusa steps through the door. Sakusa’s wearing a scarf and at least three jackets, and Atsumu would bet that there’s at least one more layer under those sweatpants. 

Atsumu is hit with the urge to laugh but also the urge to drape himself as another layer on Sakusa’s frame and press a kiss to the top of his cheekbone where it peeks over the scarf.

He wants to so badly that it _hurts_. It hurts to know that he doesn’t have that right. Actually, it hurts to know that he did have that right and that he’d lost it. 

Atsumu is an absolute fool to think that two weeks would be enough to get his act together. But he’d promised Sakusa perfect professionalism, because, again, he’s a fool. So he puts on a lazy grin and calls, “Hey, Omi. Need any help gettin’ out of that?” Okay, sue him, he hasn’t been professional a day in his life.

He expects a sneer, or maybe even Sakusa telling him exactly where he can put his help. What he gets instead is a curt, “No, Miya.” And Sakusa doesn’t even _look_ at him. Which is maybe for the best because Atsumu can feel his face doing something awfully funny.

So, Atsumu’s wrong. Winters in Osaka are much colder than winters in Hyogo ever were.

❅ • ☀

Atsumu met Sakusa when he was just a stupid 16 year old with a mouth bigger than his brain. Every single bridge he had with Sakusa by the simple virtue of them both being pretty good at volleyball ended up as ash by the end of that first training camp. He was kind of shitty, Atsumu acknowledges when he looks back on it. So when Sakusa joins the Black Jackals, 22 year old Miya Atsumu makes it his personal mission to fix things or kill someone trying.

As to be expected, this starts off horribly. Sakusa, fresh out of college, has had enough of the cocky, careless attitude 74% of his peers, and now Atsumu, positively radiates. Atsumu really does try to tone it down, but one notch down from 10 is 9, which is still 11 higher than Sakusa can tolerate.

When Atsumu said that he’d kill for Sakusa to get along with him, he was joking, but as the days go on, it begins to look more and more like a real possibility. Whether it’s Sakusa, who’ll probably have a heart attack when Atsumu finally snaps and hugs him to death, or poor captain Meian whose forehead vein has never had this much limelight, or Atsumu himself when he finally pushes Sakusa into strangling him (with a towel and gloves, of course). 

Thankfully, before any of that can happen, Atsumu and Sakusa reach a tentative, unspoken agreement: Atsumu keeps his mouth firmly shut approximately 50% of the time he wants to say something, and Sakusa ignores him the other 50%. It works, and they’re technically getting along. So why is Atsumu so disappointed?

His answer comes when he nearly brains himself on the pointy corner of the locker door the first time Sakusa touches him.

It’s light, barely more than a press of fingers against his shoulder, but Atsumu turns around so fast you’d think Sakusa shocked him or something.

“Omi?” Atsumu asks, his voice definitely not cracking. And oh, huh, Sakusa’s pretty close, isn’t he? Atsumu can make out the 18 millimeters between his moles, the angle of his jaw, the little lines in his lips— Oh. Atsumu’s figured it out. It’s almost funny that it’s taken this long for him to recognize the twist in his stomach.

Sakusa’s frowning, but it’s not the usual ‘I’m thinking of how to unsuspiciously get rid of you Miya’ frown, but more of a ‘my face is just like this, stop looking at me’ frown. 

“Nothing,” Sakusa finally says. He turns and walks away and Atsumu watches as he curls those fingers into his palm.

Atsumu meets aggravating, bendy-wristed, germaphobic Sakusa again in the spring, but he doesn’t _see_ him until summer.

☀☀☀

Sakusa is ushered into Atsumu’s life by the last dregs of spring. Decent temperatures and lukewarm air leave and are replaced by muggy, disgusting heat. And Sakusa. 

After that strange moment in the locker room, Sakusa is, all of a sudden, everywhere. Atsumu never realized how little he actually saw him, at least compared to the other Black Jackals, until he starts seeing him so much more. 

Sakusa stops leaving practice as soon as physically possible, and stays to offer one or two only slightly scathing remarks. He stops leaving the communal kitchen every time Atsumu enters at some ungodly hour. He even offers Atsumu some of his fancy tea once. And then immediately rescinds it when Atsumu gets a stupid look on his face, but still. Sakusa even starts going out for drinks with them. 

The first time Sakusa accepts Meian’s weekly invitation, the whole team stares for a long second because it’s been three months of polite refusals, so what’s changed? Sakusa does not answer the unspoken question. Instead he spurs even more when he wipes down his seat at the izakaya’s bar and points at the one next to him with a “Miya, sit there.”

“Huh?” Atsumu asks, because huh?

Sakusa levels his usual ‘Miya, that was a really dumb question and we both know it’ glare at Atsumu and says, “I know you can eat with your left hand.” And does not clarify any further.

And okay, that makes sense, Atsumu supposes. The seats are pretty close together and Sakusa would hate for anyone to accidentally brush an elbow against his or something. Yeah, that’s it. Definitely.

Atsumu’s only vaguely ambidextrous, so it takes every ounce of his coordination to not dump his beer all over his lap when he feels Sakusa’s arm brush against his.

☀☀☀

On a summer day so very long ago, Atsumu remembers fighting with ‘Samu over who’d get the last garigari-kun. Atsumu wants to blame the heat for the way that they’d nearly torn each other to shreds, but really, he knows that even if there were two popsicles they’d still would’ve done it. 

But then Ma had pulled another package out of the depths of the freezer and handed another popsicle over with her usual exasperated sigh. Crisis averted. Atsumu and Osamu were best friends again. And because they still weren’t aware the sun was hot, they’d sat on the burning sidewalk and let summer melt onto their tongues.

☀☀☀

Summer’s well underway when Atsumu starts connecting the dots. Or maybe it’s fairer to say that Sakusa grabs his arm and connects the dots for him. Literally. 

Atsumu’s currently trapped against the kitchen counter by Sakusa who has his wrist in a loose grip. Atsumu can feel his pulse thumping against Sakusa’s fingers. 

“I’m going to kiss you, Miya,” Sakusa says. And he sounds so irritated by this. Like it’s Atsumu’s fault that he’s going to— Wait? Sakusa’s going to—

Sakusa leans in and presses his mouth to Atsumu’s with all the enthusiasm of a dead fish. Poor fish. Poor Atsumu.

Sakusa pulls away and looks even more irritated, somehow. Atsumu doesn’t think he’s taken a breath since Sakusa had stepped into his space, and so all he can respond with is a sad wheeze. 

Sakusa frowns and steps back. “I see,” he says, with a tone that says that he, in fact, does not see.

“Wait—” Atsumu’s brain is finally back online, kind of. “Omi. What—”

Sakusa’s slowly shuffling backwards out of the kitchen. “Forget this happened.”

Forget? No way. Atsumu’s going to remember this forever. He’s going to write this memory down and, like, frame it or something. But the more pressing issue is Sakusa’s halfway out the doorway and Atsumu needs answers, or another attempt at that kiss, because maybe, just maybe, he was kind of dead fish-like too.

“Omi, wait.” Atsumu reaches out for Sakusa, but his fingers stop just short of his shirt sleeve.

Sakusa stops. He turns around, still frowning. “I told you to drop it, Miya.”

“I will,” Atsumu says, “as soon as you tell me why you kissed me.”

Sakusa’s face scrunches up. It’s kind of cute, Atsumu registers in the back of his mind. “Don’t make me say it.”

“C’mon.” Atsumu remembers his manners. “Please.”

Sakusa makes a face like the words are being dragged out of him. “I like you.” He lets out a noise that’s either a sigh or a groan. “For some reason, I like you.” And there’s the irritation again.

Atsumu feels something warm curl up in his chest, despite the fact that he’s just been blamed for something that really isn’t his fault. He slowly moves his hand to hover over Sakusa’s shoulder. Sakusa gets plenty of time to move away. He doesn’t. Atsumu’s hand lands gently on Sakusa’s shoulder and he can feel the tension there even through the fabric of Sakusa’s shirt. He leans in.

It’s one am on a warm summer night when Atsumu finally gets to touch Sakusa.

☀☀☀

Autumn is the season of change. Atsumu sees this outside his window, and inside his apartment as well.

Change comes in the ways that he makes room for Sakusa. There are little things like the new bottles of antibacterial hand soap replacing the cheap stuff he picks up at Seiyu. Or the three cans of disinfectant spray under his sink. Or the fancy tea he hides behind the huge container of instant coffee. Little things. But also a few big things. The biggest of them being the fact that Atsumu is in love.

Hell, it might even be capital L Love. It’s nothing like the stupid crush he had on Suna, or the way he was infatuated with Kita-san, or even the sharp pull he’d felt when Shouyou had shown up to tryouts. So, Atsumu’s in Love. What now?

The next logical step would be to tell Sakusa. Atsumu is aware that this is what most normal people would do. However, Atsumu? Confessing? Ha. Not a chance. As if he would risk the embarrassment… Okay, maybe he would. But only if he was sure that Sakusa felt the same. And he is. Pretty sure, at least. 

Sakusa shows affection in pretty funny ways. It’s a lot of “Miya, wash your hands” and “I’m not eating anything you’ve cooked, Miya.” Which was pretty normal even before they got together, except now “Miya, wash your hands” is actually “Miya, wash your hands and I’ll let you touch me.” And “I’m not eating anything you’ve cooked,” is now followed by “unless I cooked it with you.” Sure it’s strange, but it’s affection nonetheless.

So is Sakusa also in love? Atsumu has the facts and he’s voting yes.

Still, he waits until the very last day before the Christmas-New Year's break to say anything. Half because he's nervous, and half because he knows that Sakusa requires at least a week's notice before any changes are made. This'll give him enough time to a) come to terms with Atsumu's confession, and b) prepare his own. Hopefully, if things go well at least.

But before he can work up the nerve to make his way to Sakusa’s apartment, there’s a knock at his door. It’s Sakusa. Huh. Atsumu didn’t know he was that good at manifestation. 

“Can I come in?” Sakusa asks in that neutral tone Atsumu had unlocked around three months in. It’s better than disgust, but Atsumu’s still striving for “lightly affectionate”. It might seem far-fetched, but he’ll get there. Someday.

Atsumu nods, his throat already clogged with the nerves he was planning on spending the next two hours soothing.

Now that they’re just standing in Atsumu’s living room, Atsumu feels another wave of nerves well up. But, “Hey, Omi, what’d’ya need?” 

Sakusa hesitates, just for a second, but it’s enough to set Atsumu on edge. Sakusa doesn’t hesitate. Ever. “I don’t think this is working out,” Sakusa says, looking at the floor, and Atsumu feels every bit of nervousness turn right to ice. Even Atsumu's wrong, sometimes. But he's never been this wrong.

“What?” Atsumu croaks. Atsumu's throat is so, so dry and Sakusa still won't meet his eyes. 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Sakusa clarifies, unnecessarily. He sounds so, so calm, and that is so, so unfair. 

Atsumu scrambles his brain to find something, anything, to say, but Sakusa cuts off that train of thought so damn quickly. "I trust this won't affect the team?" Sakusa asks, but it’s not a question, not really.

And shit, what can Atsumu even say to that? He croaks out, "Of course not, Omi. You know me, a real professional."

Sakusa nods once and leaves Atsumu alone in his apartment.

Autumn, season of change alright.

☀☀☀

Atsumu realizes now that he’d forgotten the ending to that summer day with Osamu and the popsicles: Something had set one of them off and even that sticky blue sweetness couldn’t restrain them. 

Their precious popsicles had ended up as syrupy stains on the pavement.

☀ • ❅

So, back to winter. It’s cold; it’s sad. Whatever. Atsumu has more pressing issues.

Atsumu spends the whole of practice staring at Omi and also pretending that he’s not staring. He also thinks. And the more he thinks, the angrier he gets. Because he’s realizing that Sakusa didn’t even give him an explanation. Or a real chance to argue. Or anything. At all. 

After a frankly disappointing practice, at least on his and Sakusa’s part, Atsumu has had enough. He takes a shower, heads home, and takes another shower. He waits for all of five minutes before giving in and marching over to Sakusa’s apartment.

He pounds on the door until Sakusa opens it, looking more annoyed than usual. But Atsumu simply does not care. “Can I come in?” It’s a question, but just barely. In Atsumu’s tone, there’s definitely the implication that he’s coming in, regardless of what Sakusa says. Atsumu watches as Sakusa takes in his face and his dripping hair before finally pushing the door open.

As soon as the door shuts, Atsumu bubbles over. “Okay, Omi. What the fuck.”

Sakusa looks unimpressed by Atsumu’s eloquence. “Was that a question, Miya?”

And, god, Atsumu is not in the mood. “You at least owe me a damn explanation.”

“Neither of us were happy,” Sakusa sneers, as if explaining himself to Atsumu is below him. As if their whole relationship was below him.

“When did I say that?” Atsumu demands. “Maybe you weren’t, but I was. I told you I wanted to be with you!" Okay maybe Atsumu hadn’t said those exact words, but he swears it was heavily implied.

Sakusa scoffs. "Yeah. Sure." And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Are you callin' me a fuckin' liar?"

"I'm telling you that you don't know what's good for you." Again, what the fuck.

"And you do?" Atsumu seethes.

"Someone needs to take care of you, because you obviously can't do it yourself." The words are half sweet, but the look on Sakusa's face is anything but. 

"How the _fuck_ is this you takin' care of me?" Atsumu doesn’t think he’s ever been this mad. “I _loved_ you, Sakusa. You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

Sakusa flinches back. Was it the confession? Or the lack of a nickname? Whatever it was, it makes Sakusa’s face twist into something unfamiliar.

“Unbelievable,” Atsumu thinks he hears Sakusa mutter. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sakusa asks, audibly now.

“Tell you what?” Atsumu asks in turn, because he’s not really keeping track here.

“That you…” Sakusa bites his lip, and goddamnit, Atsumu is supposed to be mad. “That you loved me?” And he has the audacity to sound annoyed, as if this is an inconvenience.

“Well, I was going to,” Atsumu grits out, “but then someone broke up with me.”

Sakusa continues to look like this whole conversation is cutting into his schedule. “You’re unbelievable, Miya.”

Atsumu can’t believe that asking for a simple explanation has turned into him getting insulted. Though, isn’t that an apt summary of this whole relationship? “At least tell me what I did to make you so damn miserable,” Atsumu says.

“Nothing,” Sakusa says. There’s indignation in his tone, but in the sharp light of Sakusa’s living room, Atsumu can make out the darkness under his eyes and the way his fingers are digging into his palms. “You did absolutely nothing wrong.” Sakusa’s tone is bitter. “And it makes me fucking sick.” 

Sakusa looks back down at his clenched hands. “I like you a lot, Miya. And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel like this.”

Atsumu does not follow. “What—”

Sakusa continues, “People like you and people like me don’t work out.” He pauses and Atsumu watches his jaw tick, as if he’s testing the taste of his words. “But you make me wish it could.”

There’s something horrifyingly vulnerable in Sakusa’s tone, and Atsumu doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s heard Sakusa angry, annoyed, disgusted, but never vulnerable, never like this. Maybe, Atsumu realizes, the annoyance he thought he saw on Sakusa’s face was actually discomfort. Or maybe it was fear. 

“Hey Omi,” Atsumu coaxes. Sakusa still doesn’t look up. “Omi,” Atsumu tries again. Sakusa brings his gaze up reluctantly. “I think you make too many assumptions, Omi.” 

Atsumu reaches his hand out, reminiscent of that one sweet summer night, and Sakusa doesn’t stop him. Atsumu anchors himself on the solid feel of Sakusa’s shoulder as he says, “We can make it work.” 

Sakusa opens his mouth, probably to say something stupidly self-sabotaging again, but Atsumu beats him to it. “Don’t get me wrong, Omi. I’m still mad.” Sakusa flinches, but Atsumu continues. “But you make me mad all the time. I’ll get over it.” 

Sakusa’s eyes trace Atsumu’s face and whatever he’s looking for, he must find, because he lifts a hesitant hand to Atsumu’s jaw.

❅❅❅

"Hey, Omi." Atsumu lifts his head from where it’s resting on the back of the couch. "I've always wanted to have make-up sex." It's a joke, obviously, because Atsumu can't deal with a serious mood for more than three minutes.

"Miya."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll shut up now."

“Miya,” Sakusa repeats. He pauses before turning his eyes to the ceiling. “Go take a shower."

Atsumu jerks upright. He boggles at Sakusa. "Omi— Are you—?"

Sakusa sounds irritated, but the sting is undercut by the flush on his cheeks. "Go. Before I change my mind."

In the middle of winter in Osaka, Atsumu finds summer.

☀

**Author's Note:**

> (yes that was a death cab reference, happy belated 20th bday facts)
> 
> let's be friends on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nyamayachi) :)


End file.
